The Decline of Dreams
by Paper Pearls
Summary: During his confinement in Nurmengard, Gellert Grindelwald had a great deal of time to consider the youth he shared with Dumbledore. When Albus died, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he followed. Not slash, but there is 'gay subtext'.


**This is my response to day 16 of Siriusly Smart's iPod challenge. It isn't slash, but there is what I'd call 'gay subtext'.**

**OoOoO**

"_Once there was a man,_

_Who had a little too much time on his hands._

_He never stopped to think that he was getting older._

_When his night came to an end,_

_He tried to grasp for his last friend_

_And pretend..."_

_-Scissor Sisters, 'Return to Oz'_

He had been in his cell for a very long time. So long that the days had slowly began to bleed together. Gellert Grindelwald knew that he had aged considerably since the beginning of his confinement; his once strong hands had become frail and liver spotted, the thick mane of golden hair that had once flowed down his back had been reduced to straggly strands, the palest shade of silver, and his body, kept toned and lithe by the rigours of duelling, had wasted away into a hunched, hollow shell of the man he had once been.

It was almost impossible for him to reconcile this pitiful existence with that of the bright, brilliant young man who had been on the cusp of changing the world.

But there had been two such boys.

_Grindelwald and Dumbledore_, unique and equally talented, bound together by their thirst for more.

More from life.

More for themselves.

Although there had been little to stimulate his mind for a great number of years, Grindelwald's mind was as sharp as it ever was. He had used the almost imperceptible widening of Albus' eyes, that blazing blue the only thing to have remained constant, to gauge exactly how terrible it was that he looked. With every one of his infrequent visits, it seemed that Albus managed to age more gracefully than he had.

"_Could we do it?" Albus pushed a trembling hand through his hair. "Could we truly master the Hallows?" _

_Gellert smirked, gesturing towards the research that they had done, the piles of parchment and open books._

"_Undoubtedly." His sneer softened into a smile as he saw Albus consider his words and the certainty with which they were delivered, unconsciously standing a little straighter. Gellert knew that they balanced each other out – he was the one who took the chances, and Albus the voice of reason, the only conscience Gellert Grindelwald would ever allow to dictate his actions – and it was for that very reason he knew that they could do it. "Who could challenge us?"_

_Albus returned his grin fully. Behind his eyes danced a passion for the power they would wield, a hunger Gellert knew would mirror his own._

In the end, nobody would ever have been strong enough to challenge them, but when he had spoken those words, Gellert had failed to account for the possibility of their dreams being divided by hairline cracks, of Albus becoming The Enemy. It was the kind of fateful irony that Albus had a talent for pre-empting.

What Grindelwald found most curious about his situation was that he had never stopped raging against the mudbloods for pouring into his world, the muggles for forcing this situation upon the wizarding world with their filthy, monotonous existence, Aberforth for chipping away at his brother's ambition, and even himself for faltering, failing to triumph.

But never Albus.

_He watched with studied indifference as his closest friend hovered by the doorway of the cell. For a fleeting moment, he had considered charging at Albus and wrenching the wand from his grasp, but when he looked into those wise blue eyes, it was obvious that Albus knew exactly what he was thinking without the use of legilimency._

"_I want to leave." Gellert took in the grey at Albus' temples and wondered what he was doing that had caused such an obvious outward sign of stress._

"_Of course you do." Even though Albus' tone was bright, it was clear to Grindelwald that he was at ill ease. He smirked in that lazy fashion that had, he found, grown unfamiliar to the muscles of his face._

"_Do you want me to be free again, old friend?" Albus had closed his eyes and smiled. It was a bittersweet expression. "Do you regret putting me in here?"_

"_Every single day. But I fear that I'd be unleashing two monsters on the world, were I to do as you suggest." He moved away from the door, closing it behind him with a flick of the wand. The Elder wand. _Had Albus contrived the situation so that he alone would master it?_ The thought made Gellert want to laugh. Moral Albus, who had shed his prejudice and resentment like a snake shed its skin. _

_Supposedly._

"_There's nothing to stop you, Albus." As he came closer, Gellert noticed the finest hint of crows' feet around the corner of his eyes. Dumbledore sat at the table, the wand now concealed by some sleight of hand he had the courtesy not to observe too closely."We still have everything that we did then, aside from your spirit."_

"_You're still the voice of temptation, Gellert, not that I blame you for my... various crimes." With age, it seemed that Albus had perfected the art of lacing his words with that rare brand of sanctimonious self-loathing .It stirred something akin to impatience in Gellert._

"_You're still too tame. Boring." Grindelwald didn't know what drove him to say that final word, his greatest insecurity during their youth. Albus winced. "And I finally feel remorse. Although, not for the reasons that you would wish."_

Guilt for slaughtering mudbloods and muggles had never been a burden that Grindelwald had bourn. His shoulders may have stooped, but never would his pride. He knew how Albus' mind worked – if he had shown a hint of regret, then perhaps he would have been granted greater freedom – but as time passed, it seemed increasingly less important.

Their age was over.

That much became abundantly as arthritis set into his joins over the colder months, and the magnificent flames of Albus' hair were being doused by grey. Not that it mattered. For a time, they had been truly great. Perhaps it was best that the memory of their ability at its height, of two glorious wizards untouched by time, lived on without the shadow of reality to detract from its beauty.

Gellert was trapped in a prison _'of his own making'_, not that Albus had ever needed to say the words aloud. Grindelwald had once wondered why Albus' unfathomable quest for equality had not dictated that they be reunited in Nurmengard and live out the rest of their days as hermits.

But Albus was forcing himself to exact a different form of penance. It was evident from the animated gesticulation as he discussed the minds of the next generation that _Professor_ Albus Dumbledore had a passion for teaching. And yet underneath it all, where that ambitious young man lay buried, would stir a secret form of agony as he watched hundreds who were less talented than he was going out into the world and embracing their own hopes and dreams, considerably less grand than those that had once belonged to him or Gellert. Albus would always be forced to suppress that part of his nature.

Always.

Gellert had founded Nurmengard, where he was now bound to remain.

Albus had contributed to Hogwarts, where his conscience forced him to stay.

There had never been time to determine if Dumbledore considered their respective lives, undeniably and inextricably linked, in a similar light.

When Dumbledore's fire had started to burn out, ashes and embers in comparison to their glory days, Grindelwald had known that his own must, by divine providence, follow.

"_He seeks what we once did." It wasn't voiced as a question. "The halfblood who fears death wants to possess _our_ Hallows."_

"_The Hallows," Albus paused, careful to let his verbal dissociation from the Deathly Hallows sink in. "The Hallows are indeed what Tom pursues. He will never be allowed to take ownership of them. I have arranged it so that... it shall not come to pass, even if I am unable to oversee this plan."_

_The retort about Dumbledore's own desire to retain the wand died on his lips. Gellert's eyes dropped to the charred, withered remains of a hand that had shaped the wizarding world. It was unthinkable that either of them should pass from this life – not because he shared Riddle's cowardice, but because they had always been the truly powerful in his eyes – although he knew, instinctively, that this would be the last time they would meet. _

_In this life, anyway._

"_And you think I'll let him?" Grindelwald snorted in a pitiful, wheezing parody of his old condescension. "He doesn't deserve them."_

_His eyes met Albus'. Moonlight heightened shadows of his face, illuminating the hair that flowed richly from Dumbledore's head._

_They were ours._

_They always will be._

_We were better than that._

"_Less than I once believed we did, at any rate." He stood, as tall as the skilled young man who had once allowed him to imagine more than any had before him, if a good deal thinner. "Thank you, my friend."_

"_For what?"_

"_For acting as my conscience in these dark times." _

_Grindelwald laughed at the irony. The sound was purer and more melodious than it had been since the damp of the prison had snaked its way into his lungs. Once, his laughter had emboldened them both into daring one another to go farther, to flagrantly ignore the conventional order of things. As he watched Albus leaving his cell for the final time, Gellert hoped that his friend would find the courage to do the unthinkable, somehow avoid the death that crept closer. It was wishful thinking, because Albus had long since learned how to resist his raucous laughter._

Pulling away from his reflections, Gellert turned to his current guest and offered the sneer of derision that, in his youth, had set so many on edge. No longer was the effect as pronounced as it once had been, but he felt a distinct kind of satisfaction as the new excuse for a 'Dark Lord' stepped closer.

"You'll never understand the meaning of greatness. There's more of a scared little half-blood boy than a scholar about you, Riddle." For the last time, he laughed, steeling his nerves for a journey that could not be repeated.

Gellert Grindelwald was unafraid as his death soared through the air – _Albus had gone before him_.

**OoOoO**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


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